


we can't run from the wind and the thunder

by CapnJack



Series: our corner of the sky [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alya Fitzsimmons - Freeform, Canon Compliant, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Spoilers for 7x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnJack/pseuds/CapnJack
Summary: Yo-Yo hesitated. “We’ve… we have a situation. That’s all. And I thought –” She cut herself off, before finally letting out a long sigh. “I thought Simmons could help.”Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose.They had said they were out. He hadn’t hallucinated that. They had sat in front of the team and told them all that they were out, and four months had passed since then and, as far as he was aware, they still hadn’t gone back to being SHIELD agents. Did it mean he never wanted to hear from the others again? Of course not. Did it mean he wanted them calling to check in every time there was asituation?He felt that went without saying.-/-After an unexpected call, Fitz considers what a life outside of SHIELD really means. FitzSimmons fluff (with the lightest dusting of angst), ft. Alya's career prospects, the activating of Robo!Davis and extreme measures taken to avoid broccoli consumption.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: our corner of the sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901371
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	we can't run from the wind and the thunder

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it, I carried on! This work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine, and you don't really need to have read the first part to enjoy this. I just love exploring post-finale Fitzsimmons, I honestly couldn't be more ecstatic at the ending they gave us. I hope you guys like it!

“Okay. All set?”

Fitz hit record.

Alya giggled, before tugging lightly at the corner of her blindfold.

“No peeking,” he chided, and she quickly dropped her hand back to her side. “This is for Mummy, yeah?” Fitz shuffled a few steps back on his haunches, so he could capture their whole setup in the frame. “You’ll see here, Jemma, that our beautiful daughter is blindfolded – oh no, wait,” he feigned bemusement, “that’s just Alya. Sorry. Our _beautiful_ daughter must’ve wandered off.”

Alya let out a scandalised noise.

Fitz laughed. “Only joking, monkey. You’re our only daughter, so you’ll always be the most beautiful by default.”

“Dadda!”

“Shoot, sorry. Is this recording?”

He couldn’t help it – she was so easy to wind up.

“Anyway,” he pressed on, panning the camera around. “As you can see, Alya is blindfolded. And we have carefully placed two essential tools exactly equidistant on either side of her. One, there, is a useful implement commonly used for tightening rotary fasteners – or as we engineers call it, a spanner.”

“A spanner!” Alya agreed happily.

“The other,” he carried on scathingly “is a twig.” A small stick no thicker than his forefinger sat exactly opposite to the spanner. “Two items which, I feel, represent our fields perfectly. Alya is going to give us a spin – give us a spin, monkey, there you go – and when she _stops_ ,” their daughter froze obediently, trembling with the effort not to laugh. “That’s it. She’s now going to walk towards whichever object she feels instinctively drawn to. Which, as we all know, will be –”

“A _spanner!_ ” Alya declared.

“Shh, uh, no,” Fitz cleared his throat. “What she means is, it’ll be a solid indicator on whether she’s meant to be an engineer or a biochemist. Could be either, really. We haven’t rehearsed this at all.”

At least not while Jemma was in earshot.

“Ready, monkey?”

“Yes!” Alya chirped.

“Okay, off you –”

Fitz was cut off by a loud buzzing coming from the coffee table, which he soon realised was Jemma’s phone vibrating across the surface with an incoming call. She’d been in such a rush that morning to get out and make her meeting that she had clean forgotten it – but since she wasn’t travelling far and wasn’t likely to be long, he hadn’t felt the need to make arrangements to get it to her. Still, he’d be remiss if he let it ring, he knew she was waiting to hear back from a couple of interviews, so he straightened up.

“Just two seconds, Alya,” he told her, “Dadda’s got to take this.” He left his phone propped up against a chair leg, still recording, and crossed the room to collect Jemma’s.

A picture of Yo-Yo sticking out her tongue greeted him at the display, her name flashing along the bottom.

Instantly Fitz’s chest filled with dread. His thumb froze above the button to answer it.

 _God_ , why was that his immediate response? What was with him?

Shaking his head, he tapped to receive the call and lifted it to his ear.

“Hey Yo-Yo,” he greeted.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah, sorry. Jemma isn’t home at the moment.”

“Oh, uh – right. Is she – will she be back soon?”

Her voice came in almost agitated spurts – staccato beats that knocked his anxiety up at least three degrees with every syllable. He was clearly not who she was after, which only added to the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. And as he usually did when he was feeling nervous, he began to fill the silence with vacuous prattling.

“Should be. She’s gone to war with the village horticultural society. Maltreatment of melampyrum cristatum on a roadside verge, I think.”

“Sorry?”

“Crested cow-wheat.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“It’s, uh, it’s a flower.” Fitz scratched behind his ear, begging himself not to ask even as his mouth began to form around the question. “Did you need something?” His gaze flickered over to Alya, who had dropped down onto all fours and was crawling around, just narrowly missing errant pieces of furniture because of her blindfold.

Being able to see her so close always did wonders for calming him down.

Yo-Yo hesitated. “We’ve… we have a situation. That’s all. And I thought –” She cut herself off, before finally letting out a long sigh. “I thought Simmons could help.”

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose.

They had said they were out. He hadn’t hallucinated that. They had sat in front of the team and told them all that they were out, and four months had passed since then and, as far as he was aware, they still hadn’t gone back to being SHIELD agents. Did it mean he never wanted to hear from the others again? Of course not. Did it mean he wanted them calling to check in every time there was a _situation?_ He felt that went without saying.

Out meant out. They had made that clear.

“Sorry,” Yo-Yo blurted out against his silence. “This is on me, Mack didn’t want me to –”

“No, no,” Fitz waved off her concern. “It’s – it’s fine. Can I help?”

Inwardly, he groaned. So much for boundaries.

“It’s –” Yo-Yo still sounded doubtful; either at his intention to help or his ability _to_ help, it wasn’t clear. “It’s kind of biological.”

“Little known fact,” Fitz replied drily. “I actually married a biochemist. At least run it by me?”

“Pff, _wey_ ,” she snorted. “Alright hot-shot. One of our guys got hit with some kind of chemical agent. Nothing we’ve seen before – it works slow, but it works. He’s currently paralysed from the waist down. But it only spreads when he’s conscious, so we’ve been keeping him sedated. And now we’re stuck.”

It was the sort of problem he, too, would have turned to Jemma for her opinion immediately. It was right in her wheelhouse – out they might be, but he could almost forgive Yo-Yo for wanting a prognosis from a familiar expert in this particular field.

Still, he’d offered his help. Fitz blew out a long breath. “Any other symptoms?”

“In and out of this crazy fever, mostly takes over while he’s out.”

“That might be a good thing,” he mused thoughtfully, thinking back on his rudimentary (by Simmons’ standards) awareness of the immune system. “Alterations in thermoregulatory strategies are just another mechanism the body uses to fight infection and protect the host.”

Yo-Yo paused. It was a silence he knew well. “Come again?”

Fitz scratched the back of his head and tried to come up with a simpler way of putting it.

“Think of it, like, the body is just another kind of machine, yeah?” he began. “Like your laptop has a fan to stop it from overheating – that’s internal thermoregulation. There’s a prevalent theory that you develop a fever when you’re sick because thermoregulation at that level is bad for microbial pathogens – that they’re less able to replicate if the host body temperature is above the optimum state.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw – this was definitely a more general assessment. “Obviously, it varies depending on what sort of pathogen you’re dealing with, but without Simmons and a sample –”

“So what you’re saying is, it’s not spreading while he’s unconscious _because_ of the fever?”

“Possibly,” he said, placing emphasis on the probability, not certainty, of his reasoning. “It’s difficult to say with any confidence, but based on what you’ve said – yeah, possibly.”

Yo-Yo hummed on the other end of the line. “So if we want him conscious without it spreading we need to, what? Get him somewhere hot?”

Fitz made a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. Hot enough might even kill the pathogen altogether. But Yo-Yo, listen, you have to be careful with this sort of –” 

Something loud boomed on the other end of the phone, almost startling Fitz into dropping his own. He could hear yelling, and suddenly Yo-Yo’s voice came but it sounded farther away than before.

“ _What_?” she was calling out; she was talking to somebody else. “Where’s Roberts?”

A blur of a few other voices, but above the clamour Fitz could hear; “ _Yo-Yo, he’s crashing –”_

“ _Jueputa_ ,” came Yo-Yo’s voice. “We have to –”

The sounds became muffled on the other end, as if someone were fumbling with the handset, or rubbing something across the microphone.

“Yo-Yo?” Fitz barked, alarmed. “Yo-Yo, is everything okay?”

Alya chose that moment to call out to him. “Dadda, look!”

“Not right now, monkey, just –”

“ _Dadda_!”

The phone fumbled again. “—itz? Fitz, you there?”

“Yeah, yes I’m here,” he hastened to reply. “What’s going –?”

“You said heat, right?”

“Well, hypothetically, but you have to consider –”

“ _Piper!_ ” Yo-Yo hollered on the other side. “ _Heat! Get him in the pump room!_ Okay, we gotta run. Been nice catching up!”

“Just wait one—”

The line went dead.

“—Second.” Fitz pulled the phone away from his ear to confirm she’d ended the call. “Oh, for the love of – _bloody hell_.”

His heart was hammering a rapid, unsteady beat against his ribcage. For a wild moment he considered calling her back – just to tell her _please_ don’t take serious medical advice from an engineer, and also, _nice catching up?_ Didn’t being retired mean _catching up_ shouldn’t involve these sorts of questions anymore, thank you very much? And who the bloody hell was _Roberts_? His thumb was poised above the redial button before he realised how ludicrous and unhelpful that would be; she was clearly in the middle of some sort of crisis, when _weren’t_ they at SHIELD, and having Fitz on the other end of the line without any additional useful information would obviously be a hindrance.

It left him feeling sort of bereft, sort of _pissed_ , and a lot of concerned about the world outside their bubble in Perthshire.

He let out a long breath. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Willed his racing pulse to slow.

“Dadda!”

Alya was stood in the centre of the room, lifting the blindfold up with one hand, and brandishing the twig in the other.

“Got it!” she declared happily.

Fitz heaved a sigh, before crossing the room and crouching down in front of her.

“So you have,” he grumbled, holding out a hand so she could drop the twig into it. The spanner sat lonely and undisturbed a few feet away. “That was just a practice anyway. Don’t tell Mummy.”

He curled his left arm around her waist and tugged her to him, dropping a kiss to the side of her head.

“Who was that?” Alya asked, as she lifted a hand to fiddle with the button at his collar.

Fitz smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “You remember Auntie Elena? She just had a few questions, that’s all.”

If only it were that simple.

Alya sniggered. “You said a naughty word.”

Fitz’s smile froze, immediately racking his brains back to the – _bloody hell_.

Jemma was going to kill him.

“Pfft,” Fitz waved her off. “You had a blindfold on, you can’t prove anything.” 

-/-

 **Yo-Yo:** tell fitz gracias for earlier ! kisses to stardust xoxoxox

-/-

Jemma contemplated issuing another well-meaning but pointed sigh of frustration in Fitz’s direction, but weighed up the merit in doing so. On the one hand, it might make her feel less tense and satisfy the urge for some kind of passive reminder to sort himself out, but on the other he was behaving in such a self-involved fashion that she had a feeling the gesture might fly completely over his head. As it was, he was needlessly tweaking with Davis’ on switch and remained completely oblivious to the emotional weight such an action might carry.

They had wanted Coulson to be there when they switched Davis on for the first time, given he had incredibly relevant experience in that area, but Piper had wanted to be there too – which had brought forth a complex tide of emotions for her the first time she had seen the LMD. Jemma could understand. The same concerns had weighed her down all the way up until Daisy hit Coulson’s on switch, and for a little time afterward.

Davis had died, and they had mourned him – and being brought back in such a way might not be something that he wanted. But it was what Piper had wanted, and Jemma and Fitz had promised her _anything_ , so they had built him.

Finally seeing him up close was proving a little overwhelming for Piper, and Fitz fiddling about with the on switch and effortlessly reminding everyone there of Davis’ mechanical nature was not helping the situation.

Piper had left the room, begging for just a little breather before they begun, and Coulson had followed her. Which just left Jemma and Fitz waiting until they were ready to return.

“Fitz,” Jemma started, trying to get his attention. He either didn’t hear her or pretended not to. “ _Fitz_.”

He jumped, quickly turning to look at her. “What?”

“If you want to know if your advice helped Yo-Yo, you should just _ask_ Yo-Yo,” Jemma sighed, tugging the on switch out of his hands. “Honestly. I don’t understand why you’ve become so agitated.” He’d been that way since yesterday, after he had haltingly reported what Yo-Yo had called about while she was out.

Admittedly, Jemma should have known it wouldn’t help matters when she confessed she might have recommended a different course of action. But Yo-Yo had texted – everything was fine! It was just the lack of details provided that had started to rankle her weary husband.

Fitz reached for the switch, but Jemma pulled it out of reach. He fixed her with a dry look. “I haven’t finished with that.”

“You have,” she said. “Now you’re just fussing.”

“I’m not –” He made a sudden grab for it and caught her off guard, snatching it back. “I’m not _fussing_ ,” he remarked. “I haven’t calibrated the neogenic frequency converter yet.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Well couldn’t you have calibrated the neogenic frequency converter _before_ Piper got here? I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re not making this any easier.”

“Yo-Yo should be telling _me_ how it all worked out,” he grumbled, pulling the back panel off with more force than necessary, “she called _me_. I shouldn’t have to –”

“You’re going to break it.”

“—To get all _involved_ to find out if my advice saved a man’s life or ended it. I’m _not_ going to break it.”

“Fitz.”

“Simmons, I built it, I’m not going to break it.”

“ _Fitz_.”

Fitz let out a groan of frustration. “Fine! I’ll call her and ask! Just let me finish with the goddamn—”

There was a fizzling sound, and something in the switch emitted a few bright, blue sparks.

Jemma fixed her husband with a withering glare.

“I’ll, um,” he immediately started backing towards their lab. “Back in a jiffy.”

He quickly disappeared into the next room.

Jemma sighed, brushed a little lint from the lapel of Davis’ coat, and tried to imagine the way she had felt the first time she had seen an android that crossed the uncanny valley. It seemed so normal now, to be able to construct or reconstruct a fully functioning person from disparate parts – because that was who Coulson was. He was artificially born but he was a person, and he was cherished by all of them. As, she hoped, provided he agreed to his new lease of life, Davis would be too.

Voices from the hallway grew progressively louder, and in a matter of moments Piper and Coulson returned – the latter with Alya perched delightedly on his shoulders, clutching to his ears.

Alya tugged, and Coulson let out an exaggerated breaking noise, pulling up to a stop immediately. Piper laughed.

“What do you think, Alya? Aunt Piper looks plenty ready now, doesn’t she?” Coulson asked, rolling his eyes skyward to try and look at her. Alya nodded as she flashed her mother a gigawatt smile.

Jemma’s heart bloomed with warmth. Coulson was a frequent visitor to their home, their life, much more so than the rest of their old team – much to Daisy’s disappointment. The fact of the matter was that she still had field missions to go on, and SHIELD would always be insular in that way, whereas Coulson was much nearer to their life stage now that he trod the line between still working as an operative and slowly spreading out, learning his own potential and limitations outside of the agency. Alya was completely smitten with him, and Jemma had a strong suspicion the feeling was mutual. 

Coulson squeezed Piper’s shoulder and Piper nodded, as if gathering her courage.

“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.

Coulson smiled. “No need to thank me.” He paused. “Or call me sir, come to think of it.”

“Alright,” Piper straightened up, and stepped over to the table beside where Davis was standing. “I’m set. Uh, where’s the –?”

“Here,” Fitz hurried back into the room, making a deliberate effort not to lock eyes with his wife as he handed the switch over. “Just – last minute modifications.”

“Dadda!” Alya called delightedly, and Fitz spotted where she was sat.

“Really, monkey?” he shook his head. “Come down from there.”

He reached to lift her off but Coulson took a step backwards, careful to keep his back ramrod straight so Alya remained in her perch. “Woah,” he admonished, “don’t touch the pilot.”

“Hey,” Piper chided, but there was no heat in it. “About to resurrect long dead friend here.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Fitz stepped up beside Jemma, and reached for her hand. She let him take it and he gently squeezed an apology into it. She squeezed back.

Piper took a breath; then she hit the button.

It took only a few seconds, but soon Davis lifted his head, blinking around the room in bemusement. Given the way Coulson’s CPU had almost overloaded when they had programmed in his death, they had decided to take a more cautious approach with Davis.

“Guys? What’re you – wait, how did I get here? Did I get knocked out _again_? I swear to God, Piper, aren’t you supposed to be watching my six –”

Piper squeaked out an almost incomprehensible sound, before stepping forward so she could throw her arms around his neck.

“Uh, this is – this is – have you been eating more of those space gummies? I am so uncomfortable. Seriously. Let go.”

Piper refused. “Oh my God _I hate you so much_.”

“Welcome back, Agent Davis,” Coulson greeted warmly. “Let’s get you up to speed.”

-/-

 **Mack:** Roberts? Turbo, you know I can’t tell you anything.

 **Fitz** : oh my god I am going to

 **Fitz:** forget it

 **Fitz:** see if I care

 **Mack:** Sorta seems like you do.. 😉

 **Fitz:** don’t test me

**Mack:** **😘**

-/-

“Ah, ah,” Fitz admonished, “no pudding before you’ve eaten your greens.”

Alya made a face.

“It’s no use giving me that look. If you want a soft touch go ask your mother.”

“ _Fitz_!” Jemma gaped. “I am _not_ – see, Alya? Look.” Jemma made a show of piercing a piece of broccoli with her fork and popping it in her mouth. “ _Mmm_. So – ahem, tasty.”

She was vaguely aware that her expression felt like it was twisting itself into more of a grimace than a smile – but she couldn’t help it, although ordinarily she took special care to ensure her diet was balanced and healthy, broccoli happened to be one of the few vegetables she could never stomach. Fitz felt, and she agreed, that it was important Alya see them eating as wide a range of food as possible. So many studies showed toddlers held a greater inclination to mimicking the likes and dislikes of their parents, in an unconscious attempt to emulate behaviour!

It was just – _broccoli_. She could probably survive if Alya copied her into disliking _that_ particular vegetable. It was the highest form of flattery, after all.

She just _knew_ Fitz had chosen it on purpose. _Soft touch_ , indeed.

“How is it, Jemma?” Fitz asked, his expression a mask of innocence.

“Just delicious, thank you for asking.”

He muttered something about wanting salt, and briefly rose from the table to go and seek some out back in the kitchen.

Alya chose that moment to strike, turning her adorable, round eyes on Jemma.

“Mama,” she said, in her tiny but deadly voice, “ _please_.”

Jemma eyed the remainder of her own broccoli, estimated how long it would take Fitz to return, before quickly tearing a couple of tissues out of the box in the centre of the table and inviting Alya to scoop her broccoli into them.

Alya started giggling as she did so, and Jemma couldn’t hold back a smile. “Quickly!” she urged.

Once her own had been added, Fitz’s approaching footsteps could be heard – Jemma was entirely at the wrong angle to conceal the bulging, broccoli-laden tissue from view, so she placed it in Alya’s lap with a brief squeeze of her hand and a wink.

Fitz sat down again, and Jemma chose to concentrate more insistently on her plate and hoped Alya would emulate _that_ behaviour too, and stop smiling in a way that might well give them away.

“Found it,” he said warmly, before noticing Alya’s perfectly polished plate. “You finished?” He eyed the pair of them suspiciously.

“Yes,” Alya agreed solemnly. “All gone.”

Jemma could see Fitz trying to make eye contact with her, and she steadfastly refused to let him have the satisfaction.

“Alright then,” he said finally. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for afters. Why don’t you go and play for a wee bit? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Alya needed no further encouragement, sliding ungracefully out of her chair. Jemma could just about spot the tissue peeking out of her fists, but hopefully she scampered away quicker than Fitz could notice it.

After she was gone, he snorted. “Soft touch.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Jemma replied innocently, collecting hers and her daughter’s empty plates.

There was something comforting in the routine. Given how erratic their lives had been before Enoch had literally taken them out of them and suggested they transport across space in the Zephyr, she hadn’t believed a routine would ever be something she would enjoy falling into it. But with little else to regulate their days with other than some form of self-imposed structure, it felt important to develop one. Now, routines provided for Alya what they couldn’t have before – stability, and a means by which to measure events against her internal sense of time.

She washed up and Fitz dried, and sometimes Alya liked to help. It was usually a good opportunity for them to talk through anything of note that was occupying one or both of their minds, and given that earlier that day they had activated the LMD Fitz had been working on for over a month who happened to resemble a fallen friend, she had assumed they would have a lot to mull over.

Tonight, though, Fitz was oddly quiet. Jemma had prodded a few times, but each time it hadn’t taken long for them to mull back into silence. She had a strong inkling, and she was usually never wrong where Fitz was concerned, that he was still preoccupied with the phone call with Yo-Yo from the day before and the possibly fallen agent.

Eventually, he confirmed her suspicions.

“It bothers me,” he said quietly, after he stacked the last plate back into the cupboard. “That Yo-Yo called about a – you know. It bothers me.”

Jemma dried her hands on a dishtowel. “I may not be a rocket scientist, but I _did_ work that one out.”

Fitz sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I just – I thought we were done. With all of that.”

“We are.”

“Then why did she call you?”

Jemma couldn’t decide if she was detecting a hint of suspicion in his tone – whether the emphasis was not on _why_ she had called, but rather why she had called _Jemma_. Fitz wasn’t looking at her, and his expression didn’t indicate either way. Jemma chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, and answered the question in its broadest form.

“Because she needed help, Fitz,” she offered. “She didn’t know where to turn. You don’t begrudge her for that, surely.”

“No,” he answered quietly, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter. “No, I don’t.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Jemma didn’t hesitate in crossing to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing gently. “Talk to me.”

He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, as if looking for the right words to shape around how he was feeling. Jemma had learnt patience here; there was a time it had taken him a lot longer to pinpoint the exact thing he wanted to express.

“It bothers me – how I reacted,” he admitted.

“I’m sure Yo-Yo will understand –”

“No,” he cut her off, “it’s not that. I – it made me want to –” He let out an agitated sound. “I am – I’m _terrified_ , Jemma. Scared out of my mind. I keep that door so tightly closed because I have to, I _have_ to.” He pushed away from the counter, out of her reach, and began pacing across the floor of the kitchen, desperate to move. “You said it,” he pointed back at her absently, the movements in his arms becoming sharper, a clear sign of his frustration. “I can’t have it both ways. I have to be all in or I have to be all out, and being all in isn’t an option.” 

These days, Coulson seemed to so effortlessly balance on that line between being part of SHIELD, and retreating into his own life, that Jemma had allowed herself to fantasize that maybe one day that could be her and Fitz – part of it, but not consumed by it. She had forgotten how difficult it was to reposition themselves away from the team, it had taken _years_ for her to get used to it on board the Zephyr. It was harder still now that everyone was within reach. Clearly Fitz had been thinking about it too, but his interest was not in being part of both.

All in, or all out. Were those the only choices?

Jemma hesitated before giving the thought a voice. “Is it that black and white?”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked incredulously. “We become, what, consultants? On-call operatives? That worked out well for Andrew Garner, didn’t it?”

“That’s not a fair example,” Jemma countered, “neither of us have ever gone through terrigenesis –”

“Doctor Radcliffe, then.”

“—Or had our minds corrupted by an evil book from another dimension!”

“Yet!” Fitz retorted. “If I learnt anything from SHIELD it’s that there’s always _something_. Whether it’s time travel, or mind control, or _stupid_ aliens, or – or a chemical agent that paralyses you and only spreads while you’re unconscious.”

It had clearly been playing on his mind; she shouldn’t have been so dismissive about the strength of his reaction, she could see that now. She should have found out from Yo-Yo immediately how that scenario had played out, but that line – that _line_ was so difficult for her to balance on. She made a mental note to interrogate Coulson about how he managed it the next time she saw him.

“And when I think about those things,” Fitz was saying, “when I think about everything that’s out there – I can’t help but wonder – if it’s not _us_ , stopping them, who is?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he lifted his arms in a shrug; but there was no humour in it.

“So I have to be all out, Jemma. Because otherwise I am punishing myself for not helping when I know I could, or I’m furious with myself for wanting anything more than –” His arm gestured to the rest of the room in a sweeping gesture. “—This.”

Everything they had wanted. Their cottage in Perthshire.

He let out a long breath, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “This perfect, safe, nonsense life. With you and Alya and greens and a dog.”

Jemma arched an eyebrow. “We’re not getting a dog.”

“Yeah I just thought I’d throw that in there, test the waters, see how you reacted.”

“It’s a no.”

“I can see that.”

It didn’t sit well with her, seeing Fitz so unsettled. It was such a stark contrast to how he had been in the last few months – hell, in the years preceding their final mission, the years they spent on the Zephyr. He had been her rock, and he had always been so sure. _So_ certain that they were doing the right thing by stepping away. When Mack had asked them to stay he had refused without a shred hesitation.

Now she realised it was that very outward appearance of confidence that had allowed her to underestimate how much that decision weighed on his conscience. Watching him wrestle with that choice, even _punishing_ himself for it – she didn’t like it one bit. Their family was their priority now and he should never feel guilty for making it so.

Every conversation they’d had regarding SHIELD in the last few months slowly restructured itself in her mind. It made her wish she hadn’t teased him so often about his lack of interest in current SHIELD operations; clearly that lack of interest had been projected with intent, and she had missed the unspoken message inside of it.

Jemma gave him a rueful smile, pushing away from the counter until she joined him in the centre of the room and reached for his hands. He let her take them.

“I love you,” she said, before turning her gaze to the rest of the kitchen. “I love _this_. And if I have to choose between this, and SHIELD, I choose this. Every time. Without hesitation.” If Fitz needed the delineation to be clear, she would make it as solid as vibranium. “If you need to keep that door closed… we’ll keep it closed.”

Fitz shut his eyes and let out a long breath.

“But I will tell you this,” Jemma brought a hand up to rest on his cheek. Fitz leaned into the movement. “Don’t throw away the key. You don’t know how you’ll feel in month from now, or a year, or ten years.”

He had so much to give, he always would; and if he still felt connected to the cause then maybe one day he might change his mind. It was important, she felt, to keep that option open.

Fitz opened one eye. “Can we… also apply that logic to the dog conversation?”

Jemma laughed, but refused to let her point be so easily deflected. “But don’t punish yourself for being apart. You’ve done enough.” She smiled. “You _are_ enough, just as you are.”

As a father, as a husband; Fitz was _more_ than enough. She didn’t know if she would ever find the right words to reach him and express just how _enough_ he was.

Fitz leaned forward and Jemma rose to meet him, brushing their lips together.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said, by way of answer. 

Jemma winked. “I know.”

“Mama?”

The pair of them turned to see Alya standing in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her and a big, toothy grin stretching across her face.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

“What do I do with this?” She uncurled her palm, and to Jemma’s complete and total mortification, she was still holding the tissue stuffed full and stained green with broccoli.

Fitz gaped. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.” He turned an accusatory finger on his wife. “I _knew_ it.”

Jemma attempted to look nonchalant, and waved him off. She could tell by the amused glint in his eye that there was no heat in it, and while he disposed of the tissue and tersely informed Alya that there would be no ice cream related rewards for sneaking vegetables away from the dinner table, he still insisted her only punishment would be a tickle related assault.

He was so wonderful with Alya, always – it was impossible not to fall more in love with him every time she watched them together.

“The _real_ bad guy here is _Mummy_ for encouraging you,” Fitz told their daughter, while he lifted her into his arms. 

Jemma sighed. “We really _must_ work on your covert tactics, Alya.”

“ _Bloody hell!_ ” Alya agreed delightedly.

Fitz froze, ears turning pink. Jemma’s jaw dropped. She slowly turned narrowed eyes onto her husband – it was certainly not _her_ giving voice to that sort of language around their daughter, and guilt was written all over his face.

Not _always_ wonderful, she corrected herself wryly.

“Fitz,” she scowled.

He immediately took a defensive step back.

“I can explain.”

“ _Fitz_.”

“Your covert tactics _and_ secret keeping need work,” Fitz grumbled at Alya, using his free hand to tickle her stomach until she started giggling and trying to wriggle away. “You, monkey, are without a doubt the _worst_ spy ever.”

It wasn’t perfect, and at times they stumbled, but Jemma knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> considering branching out this 'verse with a little Dousy oneshot. anyone game? <3


End file.
